Traitor
by Mr. GOP 88
Summary: When a suspect ends up dead, it's revealed that there is a mole in the Crime Lab. Internal Affairs begins investigating. Suspicion, distrust and anger fill the Lab. Who's the mole and can the team stay together? First and Third POV's and some OC's.
1. Chapter 1: Missed Opportunity

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the __show are owned by CBS__, Jerry Bruckheimer, and other people who are much wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Probably. _

_Well the muse has been on hiatus for a while but it is back. This story is set in Season 3 so yes, Peyton will be in it (don't worry, I have a plan). Anyways, I hope you like it._

**Chapter 1: Missed Opportunity**

* * *

"You ready Flack?" I ask while I finish strapping on my Kevlar vest.

"Almost Mac. It's about damn time we took this guy down." He says with a firm conviction.

I nod in agreement. This raid was brought on by a sudden, last-minute piece of evidence we uncovered. The man we are taking down is a ruthless bastard. We still don't know his name; the NYPD and the Lab have christened him "Mr. Y." This Mr. Y is a hit man, and really not our top target; we are after his current employer, who has a nasty habit of killing off his rivals at Wall Street. Mr. Z., as the murderer of Wall Street is known, has to be taken down.

Flack and I along with the SWAT team are finally ready to arrest Y. The evidence has led us to a run-down apartment in Harlem. We head up to the third floor.

I look at Flack and the SWAT team. My left hand commences with the countdown.

5…4…3…2…1…0!

The ram from SWAT bursts the door open. Three men file in after it. Flack and I are right behind them.

"NYPD!" Flack shouts as he enters the room. I'm right behind him. Inside we're going to find Y. and he's going to lead us to his employer.

It doesn't happen. The apartment is completely trashed. All the electronics are trashed, and the furniture torn up.

"Clear." Flack states.

"Clear" I say.

"Sir?" One of the SWAT members calls out to me. "I think you should see this." The SWAT member is calling from the bedroom. I head in and between the bed and the closet is a naked dead body. The body is of a middle-aged man, Hispanic; a small brown beard the only hair on his face, his arms covered with tattoos and most importantly, a bullet-hole in his abdomen. The evidence we have leaves no doubt that this place is the home of our target, which means…

"Is that who we think it is?" Flack, who's come into the room, asks me.

"Yes. This is Mr. Y."

"Damn." Flack curses and I have to agree. Our lead on catching Mr. Z is lying dead in this apartment.

"What do we do now Mac?"

"I've got to process this scene and hopefully it'll give us a new lead."

* * *

Several hours later, I'm back at the Lab. Processing the scene was not pleasant. Whoever killed Mr. Y. was extremely thorough and careful to cover their tracks. We didn't even find the bullet used to kill him. No matter how much I want it to be otherwise, the trail has gone old.

The task I'm completing is just as frustrating; writing up the report on what happened. Word of what happened spread quickly throughout the rest of the NYPD. Knowing how much I've wanted to get this guy, my team and everyone else has decided not to bother me today. However a knock at the door shakes me out of my stupor. I don't look up but instead wave the person in.

"You look like you've had a tough day." A familiar voice comments. I look up and sure enough, it's Chief Sinclair.

More importantly, he is not alone. With him is a small man; short and thin, with only a little white hair neatly combed on his head. A few wrinkles and a pair of black-rimmed glasses round out the small man's face. However, what you notice most is the eyes. They are steel grey and look like they are staring into your soul. The reason they give that feeling is because they are. This little man is Hamilton Baker, head of Internal Affairs for the NYPD.

"Chief Sinclair, Hamilton." I welcome them into my office. If both of them are here, that isn't good.

"Did we come at a bad time?" Sinclair asks with a little annoyance in his voice.

"Does it matter?" I shoot back.

"Alright you're irritated, I get that Mac, but this is important, and it deals with this investigation."

I stop writing and stare at him. "What are you talking about Chief?"

"I'll let Hamilton explain."

Baker clears his throat. "Mac, we believe that a mole in your department tipped off Mr. Z. about the raid and he took steps to…make sure that Y. didn't talk. Internal Affairs found that a call from one of the Lab's landlines was tracked to a number you've been watching in this case."

I'm stunned and furious at the very idea. "Internal Affairs has been monitoring the phone calls from the Lab?" I say in a dangerous tone and I shift my attention to Sinclair. "And you didn't bother to tell me about this? Despite your best efforts Brigham, this is still MY Lab and MY department. You want to do something like this you talk to ME first!"

Now Sinclair is pissed too. "Did you not hear what he just told you Mac? You have a mole in your precious Lab that tipped the guy you've been chasing for weeks! You should be more concerned about that than about me stepping over your damn turf!"

I stop myself from firing back at him. No matter how much I don't want to admit it, Sinclair's right. The problem of a mole in the Crime Lab is a much bigger deal than any turf war.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down before addressing him again "Alright, Sinclair, Hamilton, what do we do about this?"

"Internal Affairs is going to launch a full investigation. And I expect the Crime Lab to fully cooperate with it. Am I clear?" Sinclair doesn't ask so much as order.

"Clear." I say with gritted teeth.

"Good." Sinclair checks his watch. "Hamilton and I have a meeting to get to. We'll be in touch." Sinclair leaves first.

Baker turns around to look at me. "Sorry about this Mac." He says with sympathy and leaves my office.

* * *

_Good? Bad? Whatever your opinion of this is, I'd love to hear it. Things are busy right now but I'll try and post Chapter 2 as soon as I can._


	2. Chapter 2: Lines of Communication

__

Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, and other people who are much wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Probably.

_Thanks for the reviews, alerts, etc. Here is Chapter 2. Enjoy._

**Chapter 2: Lines of Communication**

I've been sitting in my office since Baker and Sinclair left. The same question keeps running through my brain; _what am I going to do?_ The very thought of a mole in the Lab is almost unthinkable. But, and this is a very unfortunate but, the evidence looks compelling. Very few people knew about the raid to nab Mr. Y. In fact, it's a very short list; my core team; Stella, Danny, Lindsay, Hawkes, and Adam. Peyton, Tom or Sid might have second-hand knowledge of this investigation, but even that might be enough…

How am I going to handle this? Summon them all to my office, rant about one of them betraying the Lab and then force them all to start turning on each other?

_Only one of them is the mole, yet all of them are going to be accused of it. _

I make a decision before calling them in; if they, as my team, are going to be placed under suspicion, then damn it so am I. Baker and Internal Affairs are going to subject me to the same questioning and other b.s. that they are subjecting my team too. After all, Sinclair is bringing my team under suspicion, then he's bringing _me_ under suspicion.

"Damn this whole thing" I mutter to myself before I finally call them in.

* * *

Far away from the Crime Lab, in a dingy bar on Staten Island, a man watches the local news while drinking a glass of milk. Any other place and he'd be the odd man out, but _Sam's Alehouse_ has been his haunt for many years. The regular patrons know him and so do the staff. They also know about his rather unusual drink and they dismiss it. This is New York City after all. There are lots of different characters and he's no exception.

If they only knew. Ryan Malone is a rather unusual man. A complete teetotaler, who doesn't gamble or do drugs, his only true weakness is pool; he has played the game for years. All these personal restrictions aren't because of some quest for self-discipline or religion, it's his business.

This is because Ryan Malone is a hit man. He's not an old pro at the job (heck, he's 29, so he isn't _old _at anything), but he's not stupid. He has seen enough people destroyed by their addictions to the drink, to the dice, or to drugs. Malone will have none of it.

So he sits here, at the bar, enjoying his glass of milk. This particular afternoon at _Sam's_ is his way of celebrating the completion of a job. Admittedly, this was a very odd job. His employer wanted Malone to take out another hit man. It wasn't hard; he caught the guy just as he was waking up and shot him once. The shot was a through and through and instantly killed his target. In fact, Malone has rarely had such an easy job. That has him suspicious though; it was almost _too_ easy. But, as long as he's paid for the rest of his job, he doesn't particularly care.

* * *

Stella, Danny, Lindsay, Hawkes, Adam, Sid, Tom and Peyton all file into the conference room. I focus on each of their faces, trying to see if I can somehow tell which one of them it is. Of course that's a ridiculous idea, but still…

The uncomfortable silence lasts less than a minute before Stella speaks up.

"Something you want to tell us Mac?"

I take a deep breath and try to organize my thoughts. This isn't going to be easy.

"Chief Sinclair and Hamilton Baker just came into my office and told me bad news. According to Baker, Internal Affairs found that a phone call from one of the Crime Lab's landlines was sent out to a number connected with the Mr. Z case. This happened right before Flack and I raided the house of Mr. Y, the hit man connected with Z. Sinclair has concluded that someone in the Crime Lab tipped off Z about this and he had Y killed."

"So they think someone in this Lab is _helping _Z?" Danny says incredulously in a sharp tone.

"Yes they do. Sinclair is ordering Baker and Internal Affairs to investigate."

"And why are you telling us all this?" Adam asks, bewilderedly.

I don't have to answer. Stella reaches the conclusion and her voice takes on a hard edge.

"They think one of us is the mole."

"What!" Danny explodes. "That's total bullshit! Why would any of us want to help out a murderer like Z?"

"I don't know, but Internal Affairs is going to start investigating, whether any of us like it or not. I expect _everyone_ to fully cooperate with them. Failure to do so will only raise suspicions against you."

All of them are in some variation of shock, anger or disbelief. Finally, Sid of all people asks the question I want to answer least of all.

"What do you think Mac?"

The truth is, deep down, I don't know what to think. Before that meeting with Sinclair and Baker, I'd trust any of these people with my life. Hell, I _have_ trusted some of them with my life. Now, the very thought of one of them betraying not me, but the Lab itself is a lot to bear.

My silence is answer enough.

"You think it too. Don't you Mac? You think one of us is a mole." Lindsay comments in a voice that lacks Danny or Stella's edge. She seems more resigned to the idea, and that makes it sound even worse.

"Baker is going to call me this week and tell me when Internal Affairs is going to start their investigation. Until then, work on your regular assignments. But." I harden my gaze and voice for the first time. "If anyone so much as looks at the Z case without me being right there, I'll have your badge, your job or both. Is that clear?"

No one answers so I take that as the signal that they understand.

* * *

There is quiet as the eight of them walk out of the conference room. What Mac told them was… unthinkable. The very idea of betraying the Lab, this team, it's unbelievable.

Except for one of them. This person goes about the rest of their day as casually as possible until the end of their shift. Then, they head out far away from the Crime Lab and place a call.

They wait as the phone rings, until a familiar voice picks up.

"Two pieces of news in two days? I'm flattered." He comments.

"They know."

"How much?"

"That someone is talking to you."

"I figured it would only be a matter of time. Don't worry. You just keep quiet and everything will go fine."

The person on the other end of the line doesn't share his enthusiasm. "Internal Affairs is going to start an investigation.'

"I'm not concerned with the bureaucrats at Internal Affairs. Rest assured I'll take care of everything."

"Remember our deal." They sharply remind him.

"Of course I'll remember. For now, just keep your head low. I'll take care of this."

* * *

Malone is about to order another glass of milk when his phone starts buzzing. He looks at the number; it's his employer, the one he just killed for.

He frowns. He needs to take this call without the rest of _Sam's _knowing what is going on. Throwing some money down on the table, he heads out of the bar; he'll finish celebrating later.

He answers the call "Yeah?"

"Good job. You did exactly what I wanted."

"Glad to have a satisfied customer. Where's the rest of my money?"

"Don't worry, you'll get paid. However, I might have another job if you're interested."

"Might have?"

"Depends on how certain other things go. You interested or not?"

"Maybe; how much and who's the target?"

"Money is not important."

"Bull shit. It's important to me. Who's the target?"

"A cop."

"Are you out of your damn mind? Cop killing…Jesus. There's no way."

"I'll pay you double."

Malone pauses. Double his money? That's enough, hell that's more than enough for him.

"Any reason you want a cop dead?" He finally manages to ask his mysterious employer.

"They are digging into things they shouldn't be digging into. Now they are trying to find one of my… close friends."

"Close friend?"

"That's not important either; just be prepared to take appropriate action."

"I'll do my job. Just tell me when."

"Don't worry, I'll call you."

* * *

_Good? Bad? Whatever your opinion of this is, I'd love to hear it. Things are still pretty busy, but I'll have Chapter 3 up as soon as I can._


	3. Chapter 3: First Steps

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, and other people who are much wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Probably. _

_First off, I'm so sorry this took so long to post. This last semester at college got crazy and never really slowed down, so I had no time to write. Anyways, this story isn't dead. In fact, I've got some good ideas coming for later. Here's Chapter 3. Enjoy._

**Chapter 3: First Steps**

* * *

More than half of those hauled up to Mac's office: Danny, Lindsay, Adam, Hawkes and Tom, all head to _Blue Nun_, one of their favorite hangouts after work that day. Drinks flow freely and while some food is ordered, they mostly talk. To anyone overhearing them, it would be a completely normal discussion. To them however, the topic of conversation is something very different; they are angry about their boss.

"Where the hell does he get off accusing one of us of being a traitor?" Danny asks rhetorically. Hawkes nods. The others don't say anything. Perhaps most revealing, not one of them says a single thing in support of Mac.

They vent their anger and frustration, partial fueled by alcohol, but more than that, by the profound lack of trust that they feel their boss showed them.

* * *

Although she had been invited by the others to go get a drink after work, Stella decided not to. She claimed it was because of work, but in reality, she wanted to keep an eye on Mac. She's worried about him.

After Mac brought them into his office to unveil what was going on, they had all scattered around the Lab, each to collect their own thoughts. As for Stella, she had retreated to the break room to try and wrap her head around what Mac had said.

_A traitor in the Lab? That's impossible. _She had told herself that then, and it still stands now. The very idea that any of them would betray the Lab, especially to someone like Mr. Z, it just doesn't make any sense.

Those same thoughts have nagged her throughout the day. While she was angry at Mac for what had happened, that's since subsided. Instead, she's concerned about him. More than anyone else, Stella knows that Mac will let this burden weigh on his soul, that somehow he will convince himself that he is partially to blame.

At the end of her shift, Stella decides to go check on Mac, to make sure he is doing okay. Instead, when she comes around the corner, she stops in her tracks.

Inside his office, Mac is talking to Peyton. Stella watches as Peyton puts her hand on his cheek and says something to him. Mac gets a ghost of a smile and responds. His answer doesn't seem to satisfy her. Peyton takes her hand away from him and says something quick and walks away.

Mac just stands there, the frown that Stella had seen on his face all day becomes even more pronounced. He returns to his desk and buries himself in his work. She decides to see him anyways. Maybe she can convince him to give it a rest for the day. A quick knock and he looks up.

"Come in Stella."

"Hey Mac. Listen, Lindsay told me about this new place that opened up; she says they serve the best steak in Manhattan. What do you say? You want to come?"

"I can't. I have work to finish up."

"Come on Mac, you've been cooped up in this office all day. It'll be fun." She tries giving him an enticing smile.

It doesn't work. The frown seems permanently etched in his face.

"I'm sorry Stella. I can't."

Stella's been around him enough to know when to push and not to push Mac. This seems like the latter time.

"Okay then. My shift is over and I'm heading out. You take care of yourself."

"You too Stella."

Stella leaves his office and lets out a sigh. The routine is very fixed. She'll leave and he'll still be at his desk. The next morning when she comes in, he'll already be there having probably never left.

"Oh Mac. Don't beat yourself up over this." She says to herself, hoping that somehow he'll take those words to heart.

* * *

The next morning, Hamilton Baker and his second-in-command, Brenden Grant, arrive at my office to begin their investigation.

I have to say that it is at least a small blessing that Hamilton Baker is heading this investigation. Baker and I go back a bit and we at least have respect for each other. I know he'll be as fair as humanly possible.

Brenden Grant is more of a mystery. I've never had any real contact with him; cops in Internal Affairs like to keep to themselves and not associate with other cops. The one thing I have heard about Grant is that he's ambitious. According to people who know him, Grant has made it very clear that he intends on succeeding Baker as head of Internal Affairs.

That has me nervous; someone with those kinds of ambitions is going to want to make a big bust, something to make him standout to the brass.

Still, I push my reservations to the back of my mind. Both Grant and Baker are going to be around here whether I like it or not.

The two of them enter into my office. I stand up and shake hands with Baker, who turns to the younger man standing beside him.

"Brenden Grant this is Mac Taylor, the Head of the New York Crime Lab. Mac, Brenden is my second-in-command at Internal Affairs."

"Detective Taylor." Grant shakes my hand firmly.

"Sit down both of you." I gesture to the chairs in front of my desk.

Hamilton begins speaking "I know this is an extremely difficult situation for you Mac. You have my sympathies. However, in order for Internal Affairs to properly conduct our investigation, I'm going to need your cooperation. That way we'll get this unpleasant business done with as quickly as possible."

"Okay... where do you start?" I ask him

Baker looks to Grant who clears his throat and begins speaking in a formal way, as if he's reading the words out of a book. "First off, we'll need a list of all those who could have had access to the leaked information. Do you have such a list Detective?"

"Here it is." I hand them both a copy of the list I made last night.

Hamilton looks at the list and frowns. "Mac, you realize that your name is on this list?"

"I do."

The Chief of Internal Affairs frowns "You would never betray the NYPD. I know that."

"You are investigating my Lab Hamilton, which means you're investigating me." My voice makes it clear that I'm not going to back down on this.

He lets out a sigh, not desiring to fight me on this.

"Fine. Now, Brenden and I will be talking with everyone on this list and we'll also need to go through everyone's files, notes, phone records, etc."

"When do you plan on starting this?" I ask him.

Baker doesn't smile, but Grant has a small one.

"Today."

* * *

The atmosphere of the Crime Lab that day is extremely tense. It hadn't taken too long for word to spread throughout the Lab about what was going on. If that didn't clue people in, the arrival of Hamilton Baker and his assistant from Internal Affairs certainly does.

"Oh man, that's not good." Danny mutters under his breath as he and Adam watch the two from IAB enter Mac's office.

"Besides from the obvious, what's the problem?"

"Have you heard the rumors about him?"

"Who?"

"Baker."

"No, what're the rumors?"

"They say he can get _anyone_ to talk. He's the best interrogator in the NYPD. According to Flack, the CIA personally asked for him to assist them a while back. They caught some guys in Afghanistan and had them for weeks. These guys weren't talking. So, they bring in Baker. He got one of them to talk after about two days."

"And he's going to be the one talking to us?"

"Yep."

Adam swallows nervously.

* * *

Hamilton Baker and Brenden Grant set up their office in the Lab's Conference Room. The two of them are looking through the profiles of everyone on the list that Mac had provided. They've decided to do preliminary interviews, just to get an idea of who they are dealing with.

"Anyone stand out to you Brenden?" Baker asks as he finishes the last of the profiles.

"Not really, but we've got to start with someone." He picks up one of the files. "How about this one?"

Baker nods. "That's as good as any. Bring him in."

* * *

Danny and Adam continue to work at the computers when Brenden Grant comes in.

"I'm looking for Adam Ross" Grant announces, looking at the two of them.

The Lab Tech nervously gets out of his seat. He looks like he is about to be sent to the gallows.

"That's…that's me." He stammers out.

Grant looks at him with the slightest amusement. "If you'll come with me, we'd like to talk to you."

Adam looks on the verge of fainting. Danny pats him on the shoulder in a reassuring way.

"Hey man, you're going to be fine. Just be honest."

Adam nods and goes to follow Grant.

The Conference Room is where the two have set up their operation. Adam's nervousness reaches new bounds when he sees Chief Baker sitting in there, waiting for him.

Before he gets into the room Adam stops. "Wait…don't I get a lawyer?"

Grant's eyebrow rises "do you have something to hide Mr. Ross?"

Adam shakes his head vigorously "N...No…"

"Then you have nothing to worry about. Now go in, Chief Baker would like to get started." Grant directs the Lab Tech to his boss.

Adam, not any less nervous, goes in the Conference Room. Grant closes the door behind them.

* * *

_Good? Bad? Whatever your opinion is, I'd love to hear it. I'll post Chapter 4 as soon as I can. _


	4. Chapter 4: Just Business

_Disclaimer: CSI: NY and all the characters from the show are owned by CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, and other people who are much wealthier than me. Any other characters are my own and resemblance to any other person is a pure coincidence. Probably. _

_Well, it seems the creative juices are flowing again, so to speak. Hope you had a Happy New Year. Here is Chapter 4, where our main antagonist makes his appearance. Enjoy._

**Chapter 4: ****Just Business**

* * *

At the same time Adam is being questioned by Baker and Grant from Internal Affairs another, very different sort of meeting with very different questions is taking place.

* * *

On the other side of Manhattan on the 43rd floor of one of the city's skyscrapers, Jamie Lamb, a reporter from the _Wall Street Journal_, heads into the dining room for her great interview. She stands in the doorway taking in the sounds, and more specifically, the sights before her.

One of the masterpieces of Bach is playing in the background. Paintings by the some of the great artists are on the wall. The white-linen cloth covered table is set for two, with fine china and crystal glasses.

"Ah, Ms. Lamb, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Lamb looks at the man she's going to interview. His Brook's Brothers three-piece suit is a dark-blue, and specially tailored. His silk tie is red. His watch is a Rolex, his shoes by Giorgio Armani.

"It's good to meet you too Mr. Butler."

Pierce Butler, the subject of her interview, is one of the great quiet successes of Wall Street. His family had been one of the richest in the Midwest. Pierce moved to New York and became an investor on the Street. He grew richer still, barely missing _Forbes_ Magazines' list of the wealthiest people in America yet making the _Fortune 500_ list. The man's wealth is measured in the hundreds of millions. He's conservative in his presentation, no outward flamboyance for him. And he rarely grants interviews, which is partially what makes this scoop so big for Lamb.

However, as Ms. Lamb sits down to lunch, she realizes that Butler certainly enjoys the finer things in life. The menu is seafood: lobster bisque with the lobster fresh off the boat from Maine, salmon brought in this morning from Alaska, fresh vegetables, and for dessert, a chocolate soufflé made by a master French chef. To drink, Butler brought a 1960's Bordeaux red wine, one that it is rumored the King of Spain himself likes to drink.

The two of them exchange pleasantries, talking about the recent elections, what a new Governor will mean, the weather, and of course the stock market. While Lamb is impressed with Butler's knowledge of what is going on, none of these topics are her true purpose in scheduling this interview.

"Mr. Butler may I ask you about the recent string of murders? Do you have any comment on this?"

Butler takes a sip of wine and nods somberly "These are a disturbing tragedy. In this business, you get to know these people and I was friends with some of the victims. It's awful thinking that someone could do something like that to other people."

"Are you nervous for your own safety?"

Butler nods slightly "Unfortunately I have taken some precautions. I've hired some private security, just in case. I do wish the NYPD would step up trying to find whoever is responsible for this."

Lamb jots downs some notes, even though she's been recording the conversation the whole time. The journalist wants to take note of Butler's facial expressions, appearance, and mannerisms. Having gotten her money quote, the conversation quickly goes back to the market, something both are well-versed in. The conversation wraps up over fresh-ground Colombian coffee and the soufflé.

Lamb gets up to leave, shaking hands with Butler one last time. The journalist heads towards the elevator. She's about to head in, but nearly runs into a young man dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black leather jacket.

"Excuse me, sorry." She says apologetically.

"No problem." He says.

Jamie Lamb doesn't think about this minor incident on her way back to the office, or when she's writing the story that'll appear in tomorrow's _Wall Street Journal_.

* * *

The young man who had been nearly run into by that journalist heads into the dining area, just as Butler finishes his coffee. Unlike with Lamb, Butler doesn't stand up to greet him.

"You're early." The Wall Street baron comments.

"I like being early, especially on payday."

"Ah yes, of course." Butler snaps his fingers and one of the waiters brings a silver tray with a large envelope on it.

"It probably won't taste good, but I think you'll like it anyways."

The young man opens up the envelope and quickly, carefully counts the money.

"Any problems?" Butler asks nonchalantly.

"No. It's all here."

"I told you, I'm a man of my word."

"And so am I. Although, if I may ask, why did you require my services in dealing with someone else in my profession?"

"Because." Butler says impatiently. "He was sloppy, stupid. He left enough at the last job to let the police start piecing things together. He would have screwed up again and would have probably been arrested. That's the last thing I need."

"Of course. Tying up loose ends?"

Butler nods. "Correct."

"Do you have any more work for me?"

Butler thinks about it for a minute. "Other than the job we previously spoke about, no not really. Like I said, I'll call you if that job becomes necessary." He snaps his fingers again; the waiter comes back, this time with a box.

"Cigar?" Butler offers. "They're Cuban."

His guest shakes his head. "No thank you. I don't smoke."

"You don't smoke, do drugs, or drink at all?"

"No I don't."

"I see. You are a strange one." Butler comments as he lights his cigar.

"In my profession, self-discipline is critical. That's why you hired me and got rid of my predecessor after all. He lacked discipline. I have it."

"Makes sense."

The younger man checks his watch. It's getting late.

"I have to go." He stands up. "It's been fun. Goodbye Mr. Butler."

"Farewell. If I require your services, I'll call."

* * *

As he leaves, Ryan Malone tries hard to suppress his pleasure. Closing out a job always gave him that strong sense of satisfaction, especially one that paid so well. Tonight he's going to celebrate; no drinks or anything like that of course, but in the way Malone usually celebrates getting paid. He'll spend the night at _Sam's_ back on Staten Island playing pool, watching whatever game is on TV.

While on the Ferry to go home to Staten Island, Malone looks back at Manhattan.

"Gotta love New York." He says to himself with a smirk, patting the pocket in his jacket containing his latest reward.

* * *

After finishing his first cigar, Pierce Butler leaves his office building and his chauffer takes him back to his Manhattan penthouse. When there, he lights another cigar and gets up to look out the window, observing all of Manhattan as the day rapidly comes to a close. The City's skyline is beautiful this time of day.

Butler lets his mind wander back to his earlier meeting. Malone certainly seems far more level-headed than the idiot he had hired before. At least he'll be able to control this one. That's really what Butler loves; more than his untold millions, more than the endless creature comforts they provide him, more than any of it, Butler loves control. That's why he's had to get involved in this dirty business. The ones he's had people like Malone take care of threatened his control. He's no barbarian, certainly more civilized then the people he's been dealing with.

Butler smiles. This whole experience has taught him something his father had once tried to say; anyone can be bought. It doesn't have to be money, but eventually, with the right leverage, anyone can be brought under control. That's what he's done on Wall Street, and everyone knows it. What they don't know is his even greater prize; he's now done it over at the NYPD. All he made was a deal, one that gave him his own agent inside the NYPD Crime Lab. Bought and paid for, in a way. The deal had been agonizing for them, simple to him. After all, it's just business.

He thinks back to a quote from Calvin Coolidge "the business of America is business." Well Pierce Butler thinks of his own version of what the President said.

He tries it out, letting the words roll off his tongue. His new quote's power is not so much in its theatrics, but in its truth. Whether on Wall Street or in the office of the New York Crime Lab, Pierce Butler is sure of one thing:

"The business of New York is _my_ business."

* * *

_Good? Bad? Whatever your opinion is, I'd love to hear it. I'll post Chapter 5 as soon as I can. _


End file.
